


The Kingsman (Or A Bunch Of Sad Sacks Who Somehow Kick Ass)

by GaHoolianGirl



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: F/F, Gen, M/M, Other, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4444931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaHoolianGirl/pseuds/GaHoolianGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The London division of the Kingsman organization (as well as many of the rest) were all but destroyed in the now infamous V-Day. That leaves it's only surviving members, Roxy and Eggsy, to replenish and update the operation.</p><p>(or  where Eggsy and Roxy recruit the new Kingsman from more diverse walks of life, and the journey of those recruits</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kingsman (Or A Bunch Of Sad Sacks Who Somehow Kick Ass)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the backstory of the character who will have the spotlight for awhile, Adalia. Sorry for the revamp but I didn't want to repost this or start a new series)

The soft shuffle of tailored leather shoes was lost among the din of one of busy streets in the East End of London. The man dressed in a new, custom suit, seemed out of place, even with his young age. His eyes scanned the area, searching for something, something unspecified, something...

...that he found, as he felt the light hand of a pickpocket ghosting over his back pocket, containing his wallet.

“There’s nothing you want in there, I promise ya’,” he said in a calm voice, not turning his face to the thief. There were two scenarios that could occur here. The pickpocket could run, and he was out of luck, or they would stand their ground and return the wallet.

Lady luck was kind to him that day, because a confident, stubborn voice spoke up beside him. “Here ya’ are, Mister. So sorry and such.”

He turned on his heel, and faced the owner of the voice. A young woman was glaring at him, holding his wallet out at arm's length.

“Thank you kindly,” he said, in his most polite voice, taking it from her hand, “I don’t keep my proper money somewhere little fingers can take it. I speak as an expert in the trade,” he said with a wink.

The girl smiled, and he examined her. Her skin was a dark brown, and her hair bounced in black curls on her shoulders. Her form was short and sturdy, and her eyes glowed with intelligence and spark. Her clothes were baggy and ill fitting, clearly not meant for someone her size. The holes in them did nothing else for her appearance. She could have been anywhere from 19 to 21.

“Gary Unwin,” he said, holding his hand out.

She hesitated only a moment, before grasping the hand he held out, “Adalia.”

“Just Adalia?”

“Just Adalia.”

He smiled. “I can respect that. Well, Just Adalia, call me Eggsy.”

She smiled in return. Not talking to strangers was the golden rule, but there was something unique about this one. With only a few more exchanged words, they made their way to a little hole in the wall café. Eggsy’s suit only accentuated the disparity of the neighborhood, but his demeanor seemed to blend him into the atmosphere.

“Well, Mistah’ Eggsy,” she began, her Cockney accent thick, but understandable, “There’s something pretty weird about you. And it aint just the suit.”

“You’re pretty smart, kid. You’ve caught me there. But that’s why we’re talking now.”

“You’ve got a proposition to make me.”

“I just might. Not now, though.”

“Well why just dick me around then?”

“I had to make sure you were interested.”

“We’ll, you’ve got my interest.”

He smiled and stood up, and she followed. After a brief moment of eye contact, they leaned in for a departing hug. “Oxfords not Brogues,” he whispered in her ear. He pat her back, and with nary a word, he was gone.

* * *

 It was three days after his visit that Huntsman received a call, of a young woman saying “Oxfords not Brogues.”

Not even thirty minutes after she walked out of the telephone booth, she was greeted by the same well dressed man, even if the suit was different. “Well, Just Adalia, I’m quite glad.”

“Okay now, sir, what’s your proposition?”

“Follow me.”

As the words left his mouth, a car without it’s driving came up the street. She smiled again. “I’m gonna like this.”•

 

**Author's Note:**

> So? I probably messed up the bits about the accents, since I'm not British and all.


End file.
